


In Glad Company

by songquake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Gen, Gen, M/M, Next-Gen, Pre-Slash, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songquake/pseuds/songquake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy had never planned to try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and for good reason. But the prospect of spending time with boyhood idol Oliver Wood proves too exciting to resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Glad Company

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 TeddyFest on LiveJournal. In a lot of ways, this story is an ode to sports fans. 
> 
> The title of the piece is taken from a lyric in "Chim Chim Cher-ee": "When you're with a sweep, you're in glad company." 
> 
> **Warnings:** ADW=21 years, but no underage sex. Teddy is cockblocked by Oliver's morals. Sorry. But that doesn't mean that Teddy never ever gets any from anyone

Teddy's ears still rang as he pushed through the barrier at Kings Cross Station; the echoes of "Chim Chim Cher-ee", the unofficial fight song of Puddlemere United, would likely keep circling his brain for weeks as well. He'd been irritable all morning. 

"Hmph," his Nan had said when he scowled at her over breakfast. "See if I let your Uncle Harry take you out to another Quidditch match, if this is the attitude after." 

"Sorry, Nan," Teddy had grumbled, and in truth he felt properly chastened. Uncle George had snuck him a couple of pints while Harry hadn't been looking...and then neglected to provide him with Hangover Potion. But even a wicked headache wasn't a good reason to be short with Nan. Especially if he wanted to be allowed to attend Quidditch matches with Harry and the Weasleys in the future. 

He'd made nice by offering to do the washing up (easy, as Nan had made him promise to pack his trunk before going out the afternoon before), and hugging her as well as bussing her cheek. She'd been back to a more indulgent version of herself by the time they left for the train station. 

Teddy remained more tetchy than eager as he passed by the parents and siblings of his schoolmates, pausing to deposit Nan with Uncles Harry and Bill, and with Aunt Fleur, all of whom were present to see off their own offspring, and to give each of them the farewell that was due. He didn't visit long, though; it was nearing eleven o'clock and he'd seen most of them the previous night, anyway. 

What he wanted, more than anything in the world, was to find a nice, dark, _quiet_ compartment on the Hogwarts Express so he could take a nap. 

He knew such a thing didn't exist, though, so he boarded the train and searched for an empty compartment. When that search proved futile, he settled on one that held only one student, and a fellow Ravenclaw at that. 

"Wotcher, Lim," he said, nodding carefully at the Chinese boy sitting and reading the _Daily Prophet_. "Good hols?" 

"Lupin," Harry Lim said absently, barely raising his eyes. "Yeah, thanks." He kept reading. Lim, like many students in the lower forms, had the same name as Teddy's uncle, though since he was older than Teddy by a month (and unlike those younger students) Lim had chosen his name. Back in their first year, he'd explained to Teddy that he'd got tired of students in his primary school mispronouncing his name, or teasing him about its meaning. "I'm not known for my strength, which is what Qiang means literally," he'd said, striking a self-deprecatory body-building pose. "Harry Potter was many things, but he always looked as scrawny as I did in the pictures, you know?" Teddy had laughed, said that he wasn't sure he had anything in common with the two men he'd been named for, and embraced the awkward boy as his brother. 

Professor Flitwick _had_ said they were to be family to one another in Ravenclaw House, after all. 

In any event, a reading Lim was a quiet Lim, and Teddy had no interest in engaging anyone in conversation. Instead, he opened his trunk and removed his Omnioculars, change purse, and copy of Umfraville's _The Noble Sport of Warlocks_. He didn't expect he'd learn _much_ from it, but he knew time to read it would be limited once term started, and he had spent most of the summer trying to track down a copy. Primary texts were hard to find, even if this particular one had been reprinted regularly for nearly four hundred years. He set his entertainment for the ride on his seat and hoisted his trunk onto the luggage rack. 

Teddy was just settling in with his book and hopes for a kip when the door to the compartment slammed open. "Lupin! Did you see that match last night?" cried Dillon Stevenson, his best mate. 

_Former best mate,_ Teddy thought, grunting as he heaved himself upright. "Stevie, have you never heard of knocking? Or checking to see whether the bloke you're looking for is actually awake?" 

Stevie snorted. "Right. 'Cause a kip is so much more important than filling in your best mate about the most epic game Puddlemere has had in years!" He stepped into the compartment, followed by Victoire Weasley. Teddy scowled. She should have talked some sense into Stevie; she'd been at the annual Weasley trip to the Cannons/Puddlemere game as well. Even if she hadn't got as drunk as he had, she should have known that Teddy would be hung over. 

Victoire held up her hands. "I tried to tell him you'd be useless today, Ted," she said, "but he wouldn't listen. Kept bursting into that bloody awful song of yours." 

" _Chim-chim-iney, chim-chim-iney, chim-chim-cheree! A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be!_ " Stevie's voice had finally settled after two years of constant cracking, but it still wasn't pretty to hear. 

So Teddy threw one of the cushions at him. "Have some respect, man! Can't you see that little Harry here is trying to read?" 

Except Lim had put down his paper. "Not anymore. And I've already read the sports page, so we might as well talk about it." He grinned. "For once, you don't have to worry about spoiling me." 

"Ace!" Stevie turned to Teddy. "So, what was the most exciting play?" 

Teddy grabbed his Omnioculars. "Definitely when Wood headed the Quaffle away from the centre ring," he said. "He knocked it into the path of both Seekers as they were chasing the Snitch, thereby saving a goal for Puddlemere and allowing his team to continue to try to knock in more goals. Their magic number for the Britain Cup is now down to..." Teddy paused, trying to subtract in his head.

Lim got there first. "Four hundred eighty," he said. "So one, maybe two more matches." The other three looked at him in surprise. "What, you think I don't know how to read the standings in the _Prophet_ 's Quidditch report?" When the sheepish chuckles had subsided, he went on. "What I'm surprised you're not mentioning, Lupin, is how Wood's move, while legal, may have ended his career." 

"WHAT?" 

Lim regarded the others, who had shouted in chorus, and passed over the paper. "It's what led the article," he said. "Apparently, this sort of move is something the old man's Healer had recommended against, and he's been concussed for the fourth time in two seasons." 

"Jesus," Stevie said. "Who knew?" 

Teddy sighed. Stevie was a Gryffindor, and obviously hadn't been paying attention to any information that wasn't assigned for him to learn. "It's been brewing for a couple of years—the Muggles actually caught on to it first, that getting one's head knocked about scrambles one's brains. And can do permanently. I just...didn't think heading a Quaffle would do it." He bit his lip. "A Bludger, sure, you want to keep those things far away from your melon." He knocked his knuckles on his own head. "But a _Quaffle_?" He held up his Omnioculars. "Trade you a view of the play for the paper?"

**~o~**

Quidditch news only got worse when they arrived at the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast. Teddy had just sat among the other fifth-years at his table and was closing his eyes against the clamour of six levels of Hogwarts students gathering in the Great Hall when his wool-gathering was interrupted by a sharp elbow in his arm.

"Oi! What was that for?" Teddy turned to his left to growl at the offender. 

Mechthilde Brewer just rolled her eyes at him. "Look at the High Table," she said. "Most of the staff is back, but look at who's _not_." 

Teddy looked up. The deputy Headmaster was absent, of course, as was the groundskeeper, for they were involved in greeting the new students and preparing them for the Sorting. Teddy counted off, though. There were the professors for Arithmancy, Runes, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Potions...

"Madam Hooch?" Teddy's draw dropped. Something must be dreadfully wrong; the Quidditch Coach and Flying Instructor was known for eating publicly and robustly. Teddy couldn't think of a time when she'd missed a meal without good cause. 

Brewer nodded. "I wonder what's happened to her. She was giving me some extra coaching last spring, and didn't mention anything about leaving Hogwarts." Brewer was one of the Chasers for Ravenclaw. 

"Nah," Teddy said. "I'm sure she hasn't _left_. See, there isn't even anyone up there to replace her—and it's not like Hooch wouldn't give enough notice if she were quitting." He thought for a bit. Perhaps she was ill. Or making a new purchase of broomsticks for the castle. Teddy had remarked to her last year that the models the first-years were using to learn were ridiculously out-of-date. Cleansweep Tens? The most recent edition of Cleansweep was the Seventeen! And it was being manufactured so cheaply in Estonia that securing forty or so should be well within the financial capabilities of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Or if not yet, then if there were even modest fundraising. 

Teddy shook his head, realising now was not the time to ponder the sorry state of the Hogwarts broom shed. If Madam Hooch was not off getting new brooms for the students (which Teddy had to admit to himself was a highly improbable reason for her absence), he would raise the subject again. 

No school records would ever be broken so long as students were learning and competing on inferior brooms—the Board of Governors had decided a few years back that all matches should be played with fliers on standard-issue brooms. Hell, it was a miracle Quidditch scouts still considered Hogwarts students and alumni, given the sorry state of the school's equipment and the consequences of that on the quality of play. 

The Sorting Hat, after singing briefly about its mission being to help students cultivate their "truest selves", did its work, and dish upon dish of food appeared on the tables. Lim looked at Teddy, who held up a dinner roll and said, "Cheers, mate," before tucking in with gusto; skipping breakfast and tea due to hangover had left him ravenous. He looked across the hall at Victoire, who was eating with similar enthusiasm at the Hufflepuff table. 

"Cheers, Victoire!" Teddy called out, grinning as Victoire tipped her glass of pumpkin juice in his direction. 

As the meal disappeared and puddings started to arrive on their tables, the ping of fork against goblet sounded. All heads turned toward the High Table, where Professor McGonagall was rising to speak. 

"Welcome back, everyone, for another year of school!" she said with a smile, _Sonorus_ carrying her voice to the back of the hall with cheer. "I hope each of you has had a lovely summer, and that you are returning prepared to press your nose to the parchment again. Summer homework is, of course, due at the first lesson for each subject, and your professors are waiting with bated breath to see how well you've retained and expanded your knowledge during the interval." 

Teddy wasn't sure, but he thought he saw many of the staff grimacing just as bitterly as the students at that comment. 

McGonagall continued. "Our groundskeeper, Mr Jackson, requests that I remind you that all Weasley Wizarding Wheezes products, as well as Zonko's products, are forbidden outside your common rooms, and that there are lists of other similarly distracting or dangerous items posted in the Entrance Hall for your examination. All students are reminded that the Forbidden Forest is just as forbidden as ever. Don't go there without a staff member. New students are advised that casting spells in the corridors is prohibited and will result in points lost and detentions earned. Returning students, even those of you who are of age, are likewise advised." There was a room-wide chuckle at this; last year a seventh-year student had been caught casting an Acne-Inflating Jinx at the boyfriend of a girl he'd fancied. When confronted and assigned detention, he'd tried—unsuccessfully—to argue that the ban on corridor casting was an extension of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and therefore did not apply to wizards who had reached their majority. McGonagall hadn't been impressed, and had brought him in to lines involving the portion of the Hogwarts Student Handbook which discussed the rules against both casting in the hallways and against bullying. 

Finally, Professor McGonagall got to the part most of the students had been waiting for. "Lastly," she said, "I expect most of our returning students have noticed that our Flight Instructor and Quidditch Coach, Rolanda Hooch, is not with us this evening. This is because she has unexpectedly been offered a post on the organising committee for next year's Quidditch World Cup. The International Association of Quidditch only made the offer last week, but we all agreed that Madam Hooch would make an excellent addition to their staff. We expect that she will ease into retirement after her five-year appointment is up." 

The hall was silent. Teddy, for his part, was pleased that the old coach was getting some recognition but rather wary about what that might mean for Quidditch at Hogwarts. 

"Until we can organise a replacement for her, unfortunately, we are postponing the beginning of the Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts." At this, groans and shouts filled the Great Hall. McGonagall raised a hand. "Please, do let me continue," she said. "I'm just as disappointed as you are; Quidditch was one of my own favourite pastimes when I was a student here." She paused, waiting for the grumbling to die down. "In the meantime, students are welcome to organise pick-up matches, but must advise a Head of House before going out to the pitch. The Heads of Houses will assign staff members to oversee such games as they are available. Students caught playing unsupervised will be assigned detention and forfeit their right to try out for the House teams once a new Quidditch Coach is appointed.

"It is my hope, however, that this matter will be resolved within a few weeks, which would keep us on schedule. Team Captains are welcome to hold meetings of returning and interested players at their will, provided all students remain on the ground." Nodding, McGonagall said, "That's it for start-of-term notices. If anyone has further questions, feel free to inquire with your Prefects or Head of House." 

The cancellation of McGonagall's _Sonorus_ was not met with immediate chatter; rather, the majority of students seemed stunned. The quiet was finally broken by the sound of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain's head hitting the table in front of her repeatedly. 

" _Bugger_ ," Brewer muttered. 

Teddy could only nod in agreement.

**O O O**

Brewer, it turned out, had been appointed the new Captain for the Ravenclaw team, and called the first meeting of returning and interested players after supper on Wednesday.

"You'll come, won't you, Lupin?" she said. 

Teddy looked at her as though she had lost her mind. "What do you want me for?" he asked. "You wouldn't ever want me to fly with you." He frowned, daring Brewer to disagree. Teddy was known for barely being able to keep on his feet when walking briskly; he was the biggest klutz Hogwarts had known since his mother. Or so he'd been told. 

Brewer sighed. "No, I wouldn't," she admitted, "but I'd love to have your input regardless. I know you've got a little notebook hidden away in your trunk with Quidditch stats from every year you've been here. You probably know more about how our team has played—and how the other teams have—than even me." 

"I," Teddy corrected absently, thinking about a small book labelled "Hogwarts Quidditch" that was filled with his cribbed writing. 

"You know more than I do," Brewer agreed, smiling slyly. "And I bet you've got loads more plays memorised, too, from reading all those damn Quidditch books. You're a... _strategic asset_ ," she concluded. 

Teddy snorted. "Just like a Ravenclaw Captain to focus on opposition research," he said, "rather than assembling the fastest, nimblest team." 

"Oi!" Brewer said, looking wounded. "I'll be doing that, too, thanks. It's just that with Jones on the Gryffindor team and Bagman playing for Slytherin, we need all the help we can get."

**~o~**

Strategic sessions were all well and good, and Teddy actually had been a bit gleeful when Brewer asked him not only to provide statistical backgrounds on the returning players but to scout the pick-up matches for new talent—both Ravenclaw and otherwise. Still, he felt just as relieved and elated as the rest of the student body when Professor McGonagall stood from her spot at the front of the Great Hall on a Sunday near the end of September to announce that the Quidditch season was back on.

"I am very pleased to inform you," she said, eyes twinkling and mouth a-twitch as though trying to avoid a grin that would destroy her severe image, "that we've appointed a new Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach. Would you please join me in welcoming back to Hogwarts our very own Oliver Wood!" 

The roar was as explosive and lasting as a Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bang as Wood strode through a side door to the Great Hall and up to the vacant seat at the High Table. He waved at the students before he sat. 

"I trust," McGonagall said, "that all of you will treat Master Wood with all the respect due a staff member." She glared at the student body, which nodded in unified response. Her comment also seemed to deflate some of the bounce from the older students. Some of the younger ones still seemed to vibrate with excitement. Not a grin was diminished, though, and from the Hufflepuff table a thin voice started singing, soon joined by Puddlemere fans throughout the Hall: 

" _Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, chim-chim cher-ee!_  
A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be!   
Chim chim-in-ey, chim-chim-in-ey, chim-chim cher-oo!   
Good luck will rub off when I shakes 'ands wi' you.  
Or blow me a kiss, and that's lucky, too!" 

A hundred hands blew kisses at Oliver Wood. Teddy's was among them.

**O O O**

Teddy was roundly mocked when he put his name on the list of Ravenclaws seeking a place on the house team.

"Teddy! What are you _thinking_?" Stevie exclaimed. "Your hand-eye coordination is terrible! You'll lose us the game before it's even started!" 

Teddy ducked his head. "Oh, I know I'm not going to get a spot," he said. 

Brewer had joined Stevie in cornering Teddy. "What are you doing, wasting our time?" she demanded. "Do you think you need a try-out in order to be our strategist?" 

Teddy hadn't, actually, but it seemed as good a reason as any to claim for this foolishness. "Well, if I want to be considered as part of the team, I'd better go through the same rigorous tests as the other members, shouldn't I?" 

"Augh!" Brewer groaned. "I'd have to set an exam for all interested persons if I wanted to be _fair_ about choosing our strategist!" 

Teddy shrugged. "You should at least check to see whether all the prospective players know the rules." 

"Jasper,"—that was the name of the previous Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain—"usually just turned over copies of the Official Quidditch Rulebook to new players once they were on." She paused. "Besides, who would write the exam? You're the one who knows the rules inside-out." 

"Just...just let me fly, would you?" Teddy pleaded. "Just for tryouts." 

Brewer regarded him. Stevie's eyes had widened at the tone Teddy used, and he grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her aside to whisper something. Brewer looked up at Teddy and rolled her eyes before smiling indulgently at him. "Okay, Teddy. I'll watch you fly," she said before going over to one of her dorm-mates and giggling. 

Teddy felt his face heat. "What did you say to her?" he hissed at Stevie. 

Stevie shrugged. "Just that you wanted to show off your hot bod for Master Wood." 

" _What?_ " Teddy was appalled. "I can't believe you told her that!"

"Whatever, mate," Stevie said. "You were drooling as much as the most besotted Hufflepuff second-year girls when he came in on Sunday. You and I both know that you want to fly at tryouts to show off. Not that it shows you off to your best advantage." Stevie wrinkled his nose. "I don't even want to know what good you think this will do." 

Teddy shrugged. "Maybe have a conversation, show him that I'm more than I pretty piece of arse," he admitted. 

Stevie laughed. "Good luck with that. Though I have to say, if he's at all interested in arse, you might well be out of the running before you even take off."

**~o~**

Trying out for the Quidditch team had been his stupidest idea ever, Teddy had to admit.

He was uncoordinated. While he was using his "own" body shape to try out, one of the perils of being a Metamorphmagus was having very confused muscle memories. So while he spent most of his time in this form, his body's memory of what it was like to walk or fly or throw while having a beak (or a better-shaped torso, or bigger feet) kept getting in the way of his reflexes. The fact that his vision somehow took after Uncle Harry's didn't help, either. Though he usually used his Metamorph ability to correct it, he'd decided to wear his glasses for the tryouts—he didn't want anyone accusing him of using his abilities to unfair advantage. 

Even though the glasses put him at a distinct _disadvantage_. How on earth had Harry ever managed to catch a Snitch with sweat-speckled lenses? 

Not to mention that Teddy was decidedly _not_ in good shape. He wasn't porky by any means, but that didn't mean he had the strength or agility to weave back and forth amongst the Bludgers Brewer had set to bounce back and forth across the pitch. He managed—just barely—not to get knocked out, but took more than one hit to his shoulders. And between his weak arms and issues with hand-eye coordination, aiming Quaffles and bats was an unmitigated disaster. 

Still, he aced the rules quiz and was unsurprised to see his name at the bottom of the list of players for his House's team. 

He _was_ surprised when he showed up for the team's first field practice and heard Master Wood call for him and Brewer to see him immediately. 

Up close, Wood was just as dashing as he had seemed from afar. He stood ramrod straight, despite the slight bowleggedness he retained from spending so much of his time up on a broom. He had hazel eyes with deep laugh lines, and a sprinkling of white hairs in his coarse brown brush of a haircut, making it look blonder rather than grey. 

And he was frowning. His lower lip poked out just enough to make Teddy wish he dared to kiss it. 

"What is the meaning of this, Brewer?" Wood demanded. "I saw Lupin's tryout. He was the worst of all of them up on a broom!" 

Teddy blushed with embarrassment. 

"Yes," agreed Brewer. "He was. But he scored highest on the quiz I set about rules and strategies for prospective team members. I need him for strategy and opposition scouting." 

Wood blinked. "Oh. Still, I do not know that I can let him play." 

"Sir," Teddy said. "It's because I'm a Metamorphmagus, right?" 

"Aye," Wood said gruffly. "According to the rules—"

" _Metamorphmagi shall not be permitted to fly for Quidditch teams due to their ability to unfairly adjust their bodies to secure wins in close plays_ ," Teddy recited. "Except that it says nothing about Metamorphmagi serving in an advisory, non-flying capacity for their teams." 

Wood grunted in response. "And you think you can get away with having an extra team member dedicated to _strategy_ , Brewer?" 

"I don't see why not," Brewer said. She and Teddy had discussed how they could add his position to the roster. "We're allowed to have a reserve team of up to four players. I've merely doubled up Garcia to fly backup for both Chaser and Seeker. It's unlikely we'll need to draw a reserve player for both positions at the same time, and anyway, if someone is down for more than a match, we can appoint someone new to the reserve position." 

"Or," Teddy suggested, "you and McGonagall could add a position for strategist and scouting to all the teams. That way there would definitely be no advantage." 

Wood paused, seeming to consider Teddy's proposal. " _Professor_ McGonagall, Lupin." He sighed. "And it never occurred to you to check with us _ahead of time_ , Brewer?" 

"I didn't think it'd be a big deal, sir," she said, looking honestly puzzled. "Teddy won't fly, we'll have the correct number of persons on our roster, and I'm still calling the shots, so we really are keeping Lupin's expertise in reserve, so to speak." 

Teddy had to admire Brewer's rationalisation. He didn't expect it to _work_ , quite; school Quidditch had a lot of ridiculous traditions. He watched Wood scrub a hand through his hair, making it stand up in all directions. Teddy was tempted to smooth it out for him; he tucked his own hands behind his back to keep from reaching over. 

Finally, Wood sighed and looked first at Teddy and then at Brewer. "Okay. I'm going to talk to Professor McGonagall about creating a non-flying position for strategy and scouting. It's no good to have a reserve player who can't actually fill in—that's not what 'reserve' means. So you'll have to find either another Chaser or a Seeker willing to be on your reserve squad, alright, Brewer?" 

"Brilliant, actually," Brewer said, beaming. 

"I'll need a copy of the quiz you set your prospective fliers, Brewer. Just to show Professor McGonagall what you're up to." He scowled. "Even though I expect it was set just so you'd have an excuse to get your boyfriend on the team with you." 

Their responses were simultaneous. "He's not my boyfriend!" Brewer shouted, just as Teddy was biting out, "I'm not her boyfriend!" 

That got Wood to crack a smile. "Well, either you're both telling the truth on that, or you've got some seriously repressed feelings there." 

Teddy's face turned scarlet. So did his hair. "No, sir. Not interested in one another, I promise." 

Wood laughed aloud at that. "Well, then, she must _really_ want your expertise."

Teddy's hair progressed to purple in his embarrassment. "I reckon so, sir." 

Brewer grinned wickedly. "Wait'll you see his scores, Master Wood." She drew out Wood's title and name in a way that seemed obscene to Teddy. Teddy was quite certain he didn't need to have a thought involving wood, masters, and scoring in front of anyone else he had a crush on, _ever_. 

"Er, yeah," was all Teddy could manage to mumble, hoping to be dismissed before he was made into even more of a fool. 

"Please, just call me Coach," Wood said. Teddy looked up, and when Wood finished rolling his eyes, he smiled in his direction. "Alright, get on with you, both," Wood said, heading to the stands as Teddy and Brewer returned to their teammates. 

"What'd Wood want?" asked Garcia. 

"He was just clarifying the team roster selections," Brewer said, twisting her ponytail around itself to make a bun for easier flying. "Now, Lupin, what do you think the most important plays for us to practice first are?" 

"I think we've got the talent this year to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy, and it's something that none of the other teams will be able to effectively counter the first time they are in the middle of it. So, we'll need to start out with doing it slowly, right? And once we've got it down, we can start doing it faster and staggered." He drew a diagram of the move, and then animated it so that they could see what the staggered version would look like. 

"Er, that's looking a bit advanced for the first week, isn't it?" Stevie commented. 

"Right," Brewer said. "Stevenson's got a good point. But it wouldn't hurt to start practicing the zigzag formation today. What else, Lupin? Something a little more basic." 

Teddy coloured. "Well, batting drills. Our Beaters should be learning how to predict the Bludgers' movements enough that they can almost play catch with them. And it probably wouldn't hurt the rest of the team to do it to, so that you can get a feel for the way Bludgers think." At the chuckles and muttered comments about Bludgers not having brains, Teddy took a breath. "I know, they don't exactly think, but there are habits and patterns worked into the charms on them, and the problem most amateur Quidditch players have is that they haven't bothered to _study_ them." 

Since he was working with the Ravenclaw team, this comment silenced them. "And, finally," he said, "we should start working on our penalty throws. Those can help us a lot, especially if the game gets dirty." He heard someone mutter "Slytherins," and nodded. "Right. We'll also want to refresh our memories about the plays we were doing well last year—the Porskoff Ploy, the Hawkshead, the Parkin's PIncer. But those were going pretty well last year, and since we've got the same Chasers, I reckon you'll just need to practice with Bludgers let loose on the pitch." 

Brewer grinned at him. "You're a genius, Teddy Lupin," she said. "This is the year of the revenge of the nerds!"

**O O O**

The note came during double Potions with the Hufflepuffs:

> _Lupin—_
> 
> _Come see me before you go to lunch. I'll be in my office._
> 
> _—Coach Wood_

Teddy frowned; there was no reason, really, for Coach Wood to _need_ to see him. When the lab period ended, he shouldered his rucksack and headed up to the first floor, where Coach Wood's office stood across from Madam Pomfrey's.

"Come!" sounded through Wood's door when Teddy knocked. He opened the door. 

Wood had his head in a cupboard and was slightly bent over. Since his robes hung on a rack by the door, this gave Teddy a lovely view of his Coach's trouser-clad arse. 

Teddy felt his face heat and hurriedly concentrated his attention on making his skin whiter than usual. "Er, you wanted to see me, sir?" 

When he looked around at Teddy, Wood startled. "Are you alright, Lupin?"

"Fine, sir. Why do you ask?"

"Well, ah...being quite the colour of a carnation is somewhat unusual, isn't it?" 

_Shite_. Teddy relaxed his skin tone back to 'natural', though at this point that meant 'brilliantly red, with hair to match'. "Sorry, Coach," he said. 

Wood raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn't comment. "Right. Thanks for coming by." 

"Of course, sir. What did you need me for?" 

Wood looked slightly uncomfortable, and scrubbed a hand through his hair again. "Er, right. Well then. I really hate to do this to you, Lupin..." 

Teddy's stomach fell. 

"...But the Captains of the other Quidditch teams have all claimed that it's not fair on them for us to create a new post for all the teams just because Brewer wants to find a way to use you. They say they haven't the time to train up, or even _find_ , anyone to be Strategist and Scout for their teams, and they also say that the Captains should be doing that work themselves." 

Teddy's ears burnt. His eyes and nose burnt, too. "Yeah," he said, his voice cracking. "I can see that." He gulped at the air, and blinked furiously. 

"Oh... _bugger_." Wood sighed. "Look, Lupin. I'm really sorry. But McGonagall and I do agree about this—it does seem unfair to let Ravenclaw force us into creating a new position just so they can use an otherwise disqualified player."

Teddy blinked some more. "Yeah," he repeated. "I know. I get it." He took a deep breath. "Can I go?" He pushed his chair back. 

Honestly, he hadn't expected ever in his life to get to be on a Quidditch team; he knew he wasn't allowed to play competitively, and even though he thought that rule was total bollocks, he wasn't foolish enough to think it would ever change. But this past week, he'd been part of a _team_ , and it was _fun_. He'd felt _useful_. 

And now his heart was breaking. He just wanted to get out of Wood's office before he started hiccoughing or something awful like that. 

"No, Lupin," Wood said sharply. "Look at me." 

Teddy looked. The expression on Wood's face wasn't pitying, but determined. 

"You've got too much talent, too good a sense of how the game works, to let you get away from the game," Wood said. "I'd like to appoint you official commentator for the games, _and_ ask you to serve as my assistant during practices." 

"Sir?" Teddy's confusion must have shown. 

"You'd help me explain the logistics of plays, work with the Captains to figure out what they'd best spend their time on. Basically, you'd be doing what you are already doing with the Ravenclaws, but for all the teams." Wood looked almost eager as he explained it to Teddy. 

It sounded brilliant, sort of. "All the practices, sir? That's a lot of time."

Wood sighed. "It is. And I know that you've got a pretty full programme of study already. O.W.L.s this year, right?"

"Right." Teddy nodded, then tilted his head. "Sir, I know that you want me at all the practices, but I can't possibly make it to every practice for every House. Not and keep my marks up." He sighed. "I can absolutely do the commentating, but assistant coaching...it's probably too much, I think." 

"Here's the thing, Lupin," Wood said. "From the way you answered the exam Brewer set, I can tell that you already know much more than many young professional players. Tell me, how many books on Quidditch do you have?" 

Teddy thought. "All of Whisp's books, plus any of his primary sources I've been able to find. The entire _Flying With..._ series, as well; Uncle Ron got me started with the one on the Cannons when I was seven, and I collected the rest as soon as I could. Er... _The Beater's Bible_ and _A Keeper's Book of Secrets_. _Great Chasers in History_. Plus, I've read just about everything in the Hogwarts Library and all the books Aunt Ginny has. Oh, and her playbooks." 

Oliver's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his short fringe. "That'd be Ginny Weasley, right?" 

"Yeah." 

"Here's the thing, Lupin. I think you might have a future in either sports reporting or in Quidditch management. And your regular school subjects will be helpful for sure. But I'd like to take you under my wing, so to speak, and help you refine your Quidditch knowledge so you could make a career of it." His expression was earnest. "Headmistress McGonagall says that you've been known to be the arbiter of disputes about the game—trivia stuff, you know—even among faculty, but especially among your fellow students." 

Teddy nodded. "I guess I am," he murmured. "Still, I need to work on getting my O.W.L.s, you know?" 

The office was quiet for a moment as Wood scratched his chin, obviously trying to come up with a solution. "How many practices a week do you think you could make?" 

"Two, I think. That's how many Brewer usually holds." 

"Okay, how about this, then? The week before each match, you come with me to one practice for each side. Other than that, up to two teams can request you for a practice each week, first-come, first-served." 

Teddy blinked. "That sounds workable, actually." He wouldn't get to be at all the Ravenclaw practices, but he'd get to help with more than if he were denied a post altogether. Especially if Brewer got to the reservation list early each week.

"You _can_ be impartial and keep the secret plays the other teams are planning to yourself, right?" 

Teddy thought for a moment, then grinned. "I can."

**~o~**

The biggest problem with spending several hours a week with one's crush, Teddy found, was that familiarity did _not_ breed contempt. At least not as far as his feelings toward Coach Wood were concerned.

The next biggest problem was that Teddy was well aware that, despite Wood's warm smiles and jocularity, certain lines would absolutely _not_ be crossed. After all, as Wood had pointed out, he'd been in school with Teddy's _mum_. 

He had, of course, stopped wanking to images of Wood the very night he had accepted the position of Coach's assistant. Mostly. He tried to think of attractive boys and even girls his own age, instead. And since he still saw his male housemates in the showers, he had plenty of material to choose from. 

But it was awfully hard to remember that he needed to keep an appropriate distance when he and Wood spent hours each Sunday talking about how that week's practices had gone, what each of them thought about each team's strengths and weaknesses, what Teddy's ambitions were, and what each of them thought about the proposed changes to professional Quidditch safety regulations. 

"I don't know why they made you retired," Teddy said to Wood one afternoon. "I mean, I know that getting concussed too often risks giving you permanent damage, but you seem pretty sharp to me." 

Wood winced. "I dunno, Ted," he said. He'd started to call Teddy 'Ted' not long after he'd first invited him to take Sunday tea with him. It gave Teddy a warm feeling in his belly. "Part of it is I know I was stupid to head that last Quaffle. And I knew after I did it that my bell was rung, you know? But I kept playing, even though I'd only headed it because my reaction time was too poor to get me out of the way in time." 

"It was?" Teddy was shocked.

"Yeah. It's one of the first things to go, reaction time is. And I was starting to forget things like where I'd put my wand when I took a shower. I mean, I'd been leaving it in the same spot for years, but I was starting to leave it in odd places around my flat, and I'd have a hard time retracing my steps. So when my Healer sat me down and said that I'd start to lose all my marbles if I didn't stop getting my noggin knocked, I listened." 

"Christ," Teddy whispered. "I had no idea it was bad as all that." 

Wood nodded. "Yeah. And it's apparently worse for young women; that's why I'm having the teams do more neck strengthening exercises. Girls' necks tend to be so weak that unless they do exercises, even banking a turn too fast can bounce their brains around." 

"Still, what could you have done differently?" Teddy asked softly. 

Now Wood was blinking back tears. The sight of him caused Teddy's gut to twist. "I could've listened to the team Medics and my personal Healer when they told me I shouldn't go straight back into a game, or that I needed a few days off. I mean, I didn't want to look weak, you know? Quidditch may have women players, but there's a rather... _macho_ aspect to it all." 

Teddy's heart raced as he beheld Coach Wood's vulnerable state. He didn't know what to say, so he reached out awkwardly and squeezed Wood's shoulder. It was warm under his hand, and he leant into it. 

Wood stiffened. "Thanks, Ted," he said as he pulled away. "I...er, I think you should go now." 

Teddy left, feeling confused, and terribly guilty for making the older man cry.

He also suspected that the closeness they'd been sharing was starting to affect how Coach Wood saw him. 

That night, he thought of the openness of Wood's expression as he spoke about his injuries and impairments. He imagined himself succeeding at giving comfort, cradling his Coach's head against his own shoulder. 

He imagined their lips coming together tenderly. 

And he wanked.

**O O O**

**  
_Five years later..._   
**

"...And that's it for the 2018 Quidditch Cup! In a first, Argentina trounces France, 930 to 110, with Santiago catching the Snitch after," Teddy cast a non-verbal _Tempus_ , "a rather unmanageable six hours, twenty-three minutes of play."

"Boy, Teddy, even I could use a nap now!" his co-commentator Calliope Krum said. Calliope was the latest wife of Quidditch legend VIktor Krum, which led some to believe that she had been named one of the British commentators due to her notoriety. But those people were sorely mistaken; it was Calliope's expertise as a Quidditch commentator that had brought her and Viktor together, not the other way around. Calliope had attended Beauxbatons when she was young and apparently had been as much of a savant as Teddy was at Hogwarts; Beauxbatons had created the position of " _entraîneur tactique_ " for her. That was where Coach Wood had stolen the idea for Teddy's position of Coach's assistant from. 

"Sadly, while the players are now being carried off the field, you and I need to stay awake long enough to do the Quidditch Cup Final Recap..." 

An hour later, after the Recap and interviews with all fliers and coaches who were well enough to comment, Teddy and Calliope finally signed off. 

"Augh," Teddy whinged as he got up and stretched, feeling his vertebrae start to pop back into place as he bent over. "Remind me why I thought this would be the best gig ever?" 

Calliope chuckled. "Because you're twenty years old and you know what a lucky shit you are to be considered the hottest commentator in Britain." 

"Oh, right. Naïveté. Why did _you_ do it then?" 

"Because the stipend will help me send my daughter to university next autumn. And because I do love the excitement of calling such a high-level match." 

Teddy laughed. "Fair enough." He shucked off his broadcasting robes and pulled on his travelling cloak. Pointing at the robes on the floor, he said, "You think WWN would buy me a new set if I _Incendio_ 'ed these right now? They're awfully rank." 

Calliope merely snorted. "Get on with you, and give that young man of yours a big kiss for me," she said. 

"Only if you kiss your young man for me," joked Teddy. While the age disparity between Calliope and Viktor wasn't quite as wide as the twenty-one years between Teddy and Oliver, it was still large enough for the two to find common ground in having been accused of being gold-diggers. And having had their partners accused of cradle-robbing. 

Still, Oliver had been very proper, not even allowing Teddy to share a pint with him until he'd left Hogwarts. And Teddy had bit his hand and never let on that he was calling out Oliver's name when he came in his own hand. 

It had been quite the revelation to hear that, during Teddy's seventh year, Oliver had likewise fantasised about the two of them together. 

Teddy leant over to hug Calliope. "Great work today, love," he said. "Now let's go home and get well-pampered, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Calliope said. 

Anticipating the feast of wine, food, and erotic massage Oliver had promised him, Teddy walked to the stadium's Hall of Floos. He picked up a handful of the Floo Powder and threw it in, a huge grin splitting his face. 

"Oliver Wood's Quarters, Hogwarts!"

**O O O  
~o~**


End file.
